


Please, Could You be Tender

by computergodbaby



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Hair Washing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Night Terrors, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sam and Bucky love each other, Vomiting, they're softies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 13:56:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20472149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/computergodbaby/pseuds/computergodbaby
Summary: Ever since being The Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes can't sleep.He really did consider leaving Sam’s place in Washington, DC, but Steve and Natasha would not let Bucky loose without protection from Hydra. Sam insisted he stayed, too. He doesn’t feel worth it, all this saving, but he at least owes it to them to recover.But how the hell is he supposed to recover from 70+ years of Hydra conditioning? From being an assassin? The world’s top assassin? That tried to kill the man that’s letting him stay in his own home?Bucky goes to bed exhausted that night, but once again, he couldn’t sleep.





	Please, Could You be Tender

Bucky smiled as the timer for the oven went off, making his way from Sam’s living room couch to the kitchen. He passes Sam, who is reading a case file as he sits on a stool at the kitchen island. Paper are sprawled all around him.

“Sam, why don’t you work at the table?” Bucky asks, glancing over while he pulls out the tray of lasagna.

He’s so proud of himself. _He_ made this with Sam, but he let him take the lead in cooking.

Sam makes a noncommittal noise from the island while he peers down at the file. EXO-7. Falcon. Bucky notices this is his third time reading it in the last hour. But he doesn’t say anything, it’s not his place to.

Bucky walks over to the kitchen counter to retrieve a fork to taste his lasagna, and Sam quirks a brow while Bucky shuffles through the drying dish rack. Bucky huffs, “I’m just looking for a fork. Not a knife or anything, I won’t go all winter soldier on you.”

Sam sighs, looking up from his files and slowly setting the papers down gently. “Bucky, that’s not what I meant.”

Bucky just tightens his jaw and finds the fork he’s looking for, “No worries.”

Bucky’s exhaustion catches up to him during dinner, and he feels so bad. He stifles his yawns, tiredly rubs at his eyes, rubbing the burning away.

“You get any sleep last night?” Sam asks, looking up at him with furrowed brows. Bucky sighs, wishing Sam wouldn’t worry or bring it up. It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk to Sam about it, but he’s already doing so much having him here while on the run from Hydra.

“Some,” Bucky murmurs, digging into his lasagna. “Hey, did we forget to heat up garlic bread?”

“No, man, it’s on the counter,” Sam nods, not keeping his eyes off of Bucky.

“If you ever need anything, just let me know,” Sam gently reminds him, looking back down at his papers. Bucky nods, but of course he can’t see him.

“Thanks,” Bucky murmurs.

Bucky’s body is _begging_ for rest. He just needs to get through dinner and hopefully Sam won’t worry too much about him. He’s so grateful for Sam but he _feels_ like he’s burdening him.

Sam did tell him he’s there if Bucky needs anything. It was some heartwarming stuff. Bucky shrugged it off and thanked him, not wanting to bring it up again. He feels broken, nobody can fix him.

He really did consider leaving Sam’s place, but Steve and Natasha would not let Bucky loose without protection from Hydra. Sam insisted he stayed, too. He doesn’t feel worth it, all this saving, but he at least owes it to them to recover.

But how the hell is he supposed to recover from 70+ years of Hydra conditioning? From being an assassin? The world’s top assassin? That tried to kill the man that’s letting him stay in his own home?

Bucky goes to bed exhausted that night, but once again, he _couldn’t sleep_.

He laid awake for hours after his head hit the pillow in Sam’s guest room. It’s been a month since Bucky was released into DC to _murder_ Captain America.

He cranes his head, watching the glow of the moonlight from the bedroom window softly illuminate a path in the room. Bucky focuses on that path of light. It’s a path. Maybe he has a path, too, if his own.

Most nights he lays awake, staring at the ceiling. Much like tonight. All night, until the alarm clock next to his end goes off that Sam help him set. He didn’t do it on purpose, staying awake all night, but usually found himself wondering where the night went once the sun rises.

He desperately needed the sleep. _Wanted_ the sleep that wouldn’t come to him. He was basically a zombie during the day, and he doesn’t want to worry Sam, Natasha, and especially Steve. Steve would never let him live it down that he didn’t ask for help because he can’t sleep. It just sounds childish to Bucky. A grown man can’t sleep.

He’s usually lying here, thinking of Sam, wondering if Sam is thinking of him, too. This same routine every night.

Maybe Sam did notice, because some nights he was offering him some tea before bed. Just casually. He left the TV on in the living room as background noise, just softly echoing through out the house when Bucky kept the bedroom door open at night. He asked every morning how he slept.

None of it helped.

He can’t fathom actually going up and asking for help.

In fact, knowing others were _worried_ about him ultimately made him feel worse.

The thought of going to the farmers market a few blocks away in the city, and there might be a Hydra agent waiting for him with commands. Innocent people all around, just have to suffer through the commands in Bucky’s brain. It’s overwhelming and keeping him up. He can hardly remember anything anymore. And, this is why he can’t sleep. If he does fall asleep, it’s no more than 3 hours, he shoots up in bed, and he’s soaked in sweat. His heart races and his thoughts are overwhelmed by his memories.

This night, Bucky wishes he could lay down next to Sam, lean against him, and have the weight and pressure of Sam’s arm around him. They’ve figured out such a domestic routine together that Bucky craves more of it.

Bucky can’t do much or really leave the house, but some nights they stay up talking in the kitchen once Sam is back home from briefings or missions. They both lean against the kitchen counter and they _both_ feel normal again. Bucky loves hearing pararescue stories that Sam will share with him; sam started slowly opening up once he noticed Bucky staring at his framed photos on the wall from his pararescue days.

He always asks about the veterans at the VA. Sam often makes trips in the afternoon to go lead group sessions with the vets. He gives Bucky a kind of sorrowful look, like _hey, man, sorry I can’t take you, you’d probably fit right in._ Maybe Bucky’s overthinking it.

Some mornings, once the exhaustion is numbing his mind and making him feel like he’s going crazy, he offers to go jogging with Sam. He’s reluctant to let him join in, but Steve is usually there and the three of them talk like they’re three old pals that aren’t currently hiding Bucky from Hydra and taking down whatever bases they can. But, these are Bucky’s favorite days. He just _runs_ until he can’t feel a thing and his lungs are burning and he can’t stop. Being next to Sam makes it bearable.

He hoped those runs would help get him to sleep.

Sam and Bucky have taken up baking together. On night Sam comes home and can’t speak a word, he’s already joining Bucky in the kitchen in making homemade pancakes at 10PM on a random Tuesday night. The only light on is the soft stove light and Bucky watches the shadows casting on Sam’s tired face. He watches the corner of his mouth lift because he _knows_ Bucky is watching him douse their pancakes in chocolate chips.

On nights Bucky is doing really bad, he tries to hide it as well as he can. He usually takes a shower and cries it out in there. Things are definitely different now than they were in the 1930s and 40s, but he cannot show his vulnerability and his hurt. He’s not quite there yet. They had seen the worst of Bucky when they found him in DC, and they had seen the worst of him when Zeno had gotten to him before. It’s not time for Bucky to open up to Sam.

Tonight, he finally drifts off. His body just shut down, he couldn’t take not sleeping anymore. The most he’s gotten is a few hours and wakes up in a dazed confusion that leaves him trembling. If his body stays awake any longer, he’d die. Or, he thinks he would. He’s not quite sure what his limit is after being experimented on by Hydra.

When Bucky dreamed about killing, he stopped breathing. These dreams haunted his mind and is haunting him right now. He can’t _breathe_. He’s clawing at his throat and tries to wake himself up. Why is it so hard for him to take a breath? He gasps for air sporadically, his heart racing in his chest. He chokes out a sob, wishing the smell of blood and the feeling of sticky mess was not on his hands.

Bucky cried and begged and cling to himself, _please, no trigger words. No more bloody murders_.

He squeezed his eyes shut, his tears dispersing and feeling hot against his face. He’s shaking and huddled into himself. He opens his eyes and let’s out another sob.

He vomits onto the empty side of his bed, his hand clinging onto his sheets. His rapid breaths don’t slow down.

He jumps at the sound of his bedroom door opening and a hand is immediately on his shoulder. Kneeling next to him was Sam, and Bucky can’t catch his breath from his awful dream. Sam looked unsure of what to do at first while Bucky just shakily breathed, and his throat bobbed.

He lets out a small whine when Sam won’t leave. He can’t let Sam see him like this, shivering and covered in vomit. Sam ignores his small protests as he rubs small circles on Bucky’s back.

“M’ okay, you can leave. Please,” Bucky gruffly says, his throat burning with acidity.

“Hey, let me help you get cleaned up, okay?” Sam asks, but in a demanding tone. Bucky knows he won’t leave him alone, but he _needs_ to be left alone. He can’t help but quietly whimper and look down at the sick on the guest bed.

“M’ sorry,” Bucky mumbles through tears, wishing he could close his eyes and never experience anything like this again.

“Don’t be sorry. You need to take off your shirt. You have throw up in your hair and on your shirt,” Sam gently relays and squeezes Bucky’s shaking shoulder.

He shakes his head no, because he’s too goddamned embarrassed and sick. It felt so real. The blood felt so real.

He gags, and Sam shushes him gently and rubs his back again.

“Can you get yourself up?” Sam asks, but it’s no use because Bucky’s curled up and crying. “Come on, let me help you.”

Bucky can hear the exhaustion in Sam’s voice and feels horrible for waking him up in the middle of the night. He hears determination and knows he isn’t leaving Bucky alone anytime soon. He still thinks he’s scared of him, he’s always reluctant and careful around him.

Sam hooks his arms under Bucky’s armpits, helping him out of bed and a wave of dizziness and nausea hits Bucky hard. He’s too weak to walk but Sam patiently waits at his side and wraps an arm around his waist.

Bucky sits on the cold, marble tile floor next to the toilet and grips the toilet seat until his knuckles turn white.

He feels something in his hair and flinches, but Sam pulls his hand away. “I’m just tying your hair.”

He hates having his head touched at all and stares up at Sam, wide-eyed.

“Please, just leave,” Bucky quietly begs, blinking his tears away.

Sam hesitates, “Can I please stay and help?”

“I don’t- I can’t have you seeing me like this,” he pleaded.

“Hey, I told you if you need anything, I’m there,” Sam says, sitting next to Bucky.

He feels himself going to get sick and immediately grabs the toilet bowl, and Bucky tries to retaliate when Sam ties his hair back. There’s some throw up in his hair.

“I’ll get myself cleaned up, don’t worry. I don’t want you getting sick all over your hair again,” Sam says and pulls his hair into a ponytail while he’s sick.

Bucky gasps and tries to breathe but focuses on the light movements of Sam’s fingers in his hair. He closes his eyes and waits for Sam to finish tying his hair.

“I’ll start running the bath for you,” Sam says and soothes Bucky with a hand on his back and reaches over to the tub with his other hand. Sam’s hand moving comfortingly around hell’s his trembles cease.

He heaves over the toilet and Sam rubs his back. “Don’t force it out. Take a deep breath with me.”

Jesus. Not this. He rolls his eyes.

“Man, I’m just trying to help. Take a breath,” Sam says, and Bucky follows his lead. He tries so hard to take a normal breath but can’t with acidity and vomit in his throat and airways and congestion building up. He feels disgusting.

“Do you want a shower or a bath?” Sam asks, holding his shoulder.

“ ‘Either,” Bucky mumbles.

“Neither?” Sam asks. “You need to get cleaned up.”

Bucky shakes his head no, his mind drifting to the hand on his shoulder while he trembles and feels weak. He doesn’t feel like he can breathe.

“Help,” Bucky softly cries.

Sam nods and points to Bucky’s shirt. “Can I?”

He nods and Sam gently shrugs his shirt off, leaving it on the floor besides them and Bucky feels so vulnerable after an awful nightmare and about his metal arm. But Sam goes under the sink to bring out a water basin that he keeps there.

He asks Bucky to lean back, his back against the cold tub. “Tilt your head back.”

Sam grabs his head gently and guides his head backwards, and Bucky’s nervously eyeing the running water besides him. He’s too numb to do or say anything.

Sam leaves the warm water running and he focuses on the sound as Sam starts filling the water basin up. He gently pours water at the ends up Bucky’s hair, causing him to squirm.

“I won’t get it in your face. I promise,” Sam whispers.

He takes a shaky deep breath in and nods, his brows furrowed but he’s determined to trust Sam right now. He’s never let him down.

He realizes how smelly and disgusting he must be and shakily whispers with his voice thick with tears, “M’ sorry, Sam.”

“Don’t be,” Sam says, gently running his hands through Bucky’s hair. He hears a snap besides him and sees him pour shampoo into his palm. He lathers it slowly and massages Bucky’s roots.

Sam has Bucky sit up so he can Maher his hair properly with shampoo. Bucky leans over the tub so his abdomen is against it and it’s more comfortable this way.

“Close your eyes,” Sam instructs and Bucky follows, feeling the warm water run through his hair and down the sides of his face while Sam shields his eyes.

He suddenly remembers he hates having his head touched but the trust he has for Sam right now is so overwhelming. The affection is pouring out of his chest.

Sam gently shakes Bucky’s hair and massages conditioner into his scalp and roots. Bucky might _cry_ from how comforting this is, having his head gently massaged by Sam. Small, gentle movements that Bucky doesn’t recognize.

Sam’s hands aren’t going to hurt him. Hands near his face aren’t there to smack him.

Sam grabs a small towel and gently dried his hair. He pats his bare shoulders dry from where water fell and he’s just numb. Sam moves around him like it’s not big deal and grabs a comb from his medicine cabinet.

He sits down on top of the toilet cover and gently combs through Bucky’s knitted hair. He scoots backwards, sitting between his legs. His hand is placed gently on the side of Bucky’s head while he brushes out knots.

He helps pull Bucky up and finds him a clean t-shirt from his drawers and tears the sheets off the bed that he got sick on. He immediately protests.

“Please, you’ve done more than enough—“ Bucky begins but Sam’s already out the room and coming back with some cleaner and fresh sheets.

Sam sets everything down and stares down at the floor, but looks up and locks eyes with him.

“I care about you. Don’t feel like you’re bothering me,” he admits, and Bucky’s chest tightens.

Once his bed is made and cleaned, Bucky could cry. He climbs into his bed and isn’t surprised or upset that Sam lifts the blanket up to climb in with him.

“Can I?” Sam asks, hesitating with a knee on the bed.

“Course,” Bucky confirms, immediately curling up close to Sam once he sits down next to Bucky and leans against the headboard. He wipes a tear off of Bucky’s cheek.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” Bucky says in a small voice.

Sam replies by pulling him close and hesitating before running a hand through his hair. He wraps an arm around his chest and presses his head to Sam’s chest, listening and shifting around until his steady heartbeat was in his ears.

And then, he fell asleep into a dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this is just a drabble I wrote. I love Sam washing Bucky's hair ugh. This is basically unedited and the idea came at 1am when I was trying to sleep before leaving for a small road trip in the morning. Enjoy. and I couldn't think of a title so I stole Lorde's lyrics srry


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